


Wandcrafting

by snakeling



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Bondage, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, auto-fellatio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-26
Updated: 2006-07-26
Packaged: 2017-10-07 04:31:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snakeling/pseuds/snakeling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The art of wandcrafting opens more doors to Harry than he had ever dreamed of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wandcrafting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Incognito](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Incognito).



Harry always found the regular movement very soothing. He slid the sandpaper from handle to tip, handle to tip until he didn’t need to think about it, until his muscle memory took over his brain. His breathing deepened and he reached that point of concentration he needed.

“Harry!” a voice bellowed downstairs.

Harry jumped, his arm jerking the sandpaper, scratching the wood deeply. He swore.

“Harry! Come down here right now!”

Grumbling, Harry stood up and abandoned the scarred wand. Downstairs, in the sitting room, Ron’s face was floating in the greenish flames of the Floo.

“Finally!”

“I was working, Ron. What is it?”

“We found Snape in a Muggle hospital in Leeds.”

“Hospital?”

Ron nodded. “Yeah. He’s in a bad shape; a hex, probably.”

Harry felt guilty; during the final battle, Snape had stepped in front of a curse meant for him. It had been Bellatrix’s and probably overly nasty. It could have been him in this hospital.

“Why did you call me?”

Ron scowled. “He was transferred to St Mungo’s, but apparently, the Healers aren’t too eager to help him, never mind the Wizengamot’s decision or the Hippocratic oath they swore.”

Harry nodded grimly. “Step aside; I’m coming.”

* * *

Harry was pleased to see that his name still carried some weight, even after the blow his reputation had taken from his public stance in favour of Snape’s innocence, and his highly publicised testimonial in his defence at the trial in absentia. However much he disliked the man personally, Harry knew he had been instrumental to their victory, from his numerous Phoenix Patroni bearing information on the Horcruxes to the hex he had taken in Harry’s stead.

A willing Healer was found, and he examined Snape under Harry’s attentive gaze.

Snape was looking. . . frail, there were no other words for it. The skin of his face was paler than it had ever been, the skin was stretched taut over his skull, as if he hadn’t eaten in far too long, which might in fact have been the case, Harry reflected.

The healer straightened up and rubbed his hand on his forehead.

“Healer Hearthwick, is it?” At the man’s nod, Harry went on. “What’s your diagnostic?”

“That must have been some nasty hex; I’ve never seen the like. I know the condition, but usually it’s an inherited thing. It causes muscular degeneration. The muscles weaken and eventually muscle cells die. No cure as of yet, but there are potions to slow down the process.”

“I see. How long is he going to remain unconscious?”

“Only a few days, I hope. He’s going to need extensive care, of course. During and after.”

Of course. Harry exchanged a look with Ron. He really doubted Snape would receive the care he was entitled to at St Mungo’s. Finding a cooperative Healer had been hard enough. He tried to think of an alternative, but there really was none.

“I want to take Snape into my own home and care for him there. Is that possible?”

Visibly startled, Hearthwick stammered, “I— I don’t know. What authority do you have? You’re not his next of kin or anything. . .”

Harry crossed his arms, prepared to fight for this. “I owe him several Life Debts. I should think that’s enough.”

Hearthwick blinked, then said, “I’ll go ask the Head Healer.”

“You do that.”

When Hearthwick was gone, Ron turned to Harry. “You’re a better man than me, mate.”

Harry sighed. “It has to be done.”

* * *

Several hours and a mountain of paperwork later, Snape was lying on a hovering stretcher spelled as a Portkey to Harry’s home. Harry had made a deal with Hearthwick to come check Snape daily, and potions would be brewed by St Mungo’s laboratory.

Once everything was ready, Hearthwick shook hands with Harry and Ron.

“I’ll come by tonight to give him the potion. How can I come?”

“I’ll key you into the wards. You’ll only need to say ‘Godric’s Hollow’ at the Floo, any Floo.”

“All right. See you later, then.”

“Thank you, Healer Hearthwick.”

Both Harry and Ron touched the stretcher, and they felt the familiar tug of the Portkey before landing in the middle of Harry’s sitting room. Ron barely caught Snape before he slipped off the upturned stretcher.

“You need to work on your Portkey spells, mate.”

“Oh, fuck off, you,” Harry said good-naturedly.

He started upstairs, the stretcher following him.

“Where are you going to put him?”

“Bedroom next to mine, for the moment. That’ll make it easier.”

In the bedroom, Ron changed the sheets, aired the room and dusted the furniture with a few charms. As Harry levitated Snape from the stretcher to the opened bed, he said, “You need to teach me those, one day.”

“Mum left me this great book about common household charms. I’ll lend it to you.”

“Thanks.”

Gently, Harry covered Snape and tucked the sheets under the mattress with a spell he had learned from Madam Pomfrey.

“We can’t do anything right now. Let’s let him rest,” Ron said.

Harry nodded and they left the bedroom silently.

“I’m going to leave now, because I still have a report to make. Do you want me to come by tonight?”

Harry shook his head. “No need, I’m sure I’ll be able to defend my virtue against the assaults of Healer Hearthwick.”

“Idiot.” Ron rolled his eyes. “Then I guess I’ll see you on Sunday. You’re still coming, right?”

“No idea.” Harry passed his hand in his hair in embarrassment. “Now that Snape’s here, I don’t know. Especially if he’s still unconscious.”

“Let me know soon, okay?” Without waiting for an answer, Ron Apparated away.

Indecisive, Harry remained standing in the middle of the corridor for a few minutes. He still had a wand to make, and he knew he should leave Snape to rest, but he felt uneasy at the idea of leaving the man unsupervised. After a moment, Harry went to grab his equipment, then came back to Snape’s room. He settled comfortably on the armchair near the window, and resumed the regular, smoothing movements of wand polishing.

* * *

Two days later, Snape still hadn’t woken up and Harry was beginning to worry. Hearthwick had taught him a Baby-Monitoring spell, but the only sounds coming from Snape’s room were the occasional grunts and rustling of sheets.

At noon exactly, Harry went to Snape’s bedroom to administer his potions. With a lot more ease than he had at first, he propped Snape over a couple of pillows. He stroked the corners of Snape’s mouth with both thumbs, until Snape had opened it enough for his purpose. He poured the potion slowly inside while rubbing his throat, making sure that Snape didn’t choke. He took the pillows away again, settling them on the armchair he usually occupied, and tucked Snape in carefully.

It was strange, seeing the man he had hated and feared in equal measures for so long, lying as helpless as an infant. Pity had been added to the mix of confusing emotions Harry felt for the man, and he had no doubt Snape would hate that.

Harry went to the kitchen and made himself a quick lunch. While he was eating, he thought of the wand he was making. He had managed to smooth the scratches away without compromising the wand’s effectiveness. Now he needed to add the core, which was the most difficult, but also the most exhilarating, part. Unfortunately, to do that, he needed half a dozen hours of complete quiet.

Maybe he should ask someone to take over his nursing duties for the day? Harry started to think about someone suitable among his acquaintances. It was easier said than done. Too many of his acquaintances were dead. Among those who were left, a few had left Britain altogether, and those who hadn’t worked full time and presumably wouldn’t be too eager to spend a day off taking care of Snape.

That left just one possible person, really.

Harry took some Floo powder and called on the Burrow.

“Harry, my dear boy, how are you?”

Arthur Weasley was seating at the kitchen table, happily putting something Muggle apart. Harry thought it might have been a toaster once.

“Good, thanks, Mr W— Arthur. You seem to be in good spirits yourself.”

Arthur chuckled. “I am, but you know me, of course. Now, was there something you wanted, Harry?”

“A favour, actually.” Harry was a bit embarrassed to ask, but he had no choice. “You know Snape was found, don’t you?”

Arthur nodded. “Yes, Ron told me all about that.”

“Then you know he’s currently in a coma at my house.” Harry waited for Arthur’s nod, then continued, “He needs potions regularly. I don’t mind doing it, normally, but I have a wand to finish, and I can’t get interrupted every four hours.”

“So you want me to take over until you’ve finished? Of course, Harry, of course.”

“Thanks!” Harry was fairly sure he was beaming, but he didn’t care. “Can you come tomorrow morning? Come at seven, I’ll make you breakfast.”

Arthur smiled back. “All right, Harry. I’ll be there tomorrow.”

“Thanks again! See you tomorrow, then!”

“Good bye, Harry.”

Harry closed the Floo and sat back on his haunches. Well, that was one thing done at least. And he could make use of Arthur’s presence to go shopping for groceries as well. The Baby-Monitoring spell didn’t extend beyond the house, and he couldn’t bring himself to leave Snape all alone in his state.

His mind a little freer, Harry went upstairs to began preparing the ingredients he would need for the last stage of wandcrafting.

* * *

Harry was frying some tomatoes, the rest of the breakfast already done and under warming spells, when he heard the rush of the Floo heralding Arthur’s arrival.

“In the kitchen!” he shouted.

A few second later, Arthur entered the room.

“Good morning, Harry. It smells wonderful.”

Harry smiled. “Hopefully, the taste should be on par. Sit down, please.”

He slid down the tomatoes on both their plates and left the pan to cool. Sitting opposite to Arthur, he attacked his meal. He rarely indulged himself with a full English breakfast, generally preferring a very unhealthy cup of black coffee.

“You look a little tired, Harry.”

“I feel more than a little tired, to be honest. I didn’t get much sleep in the last few days.”

“Severus?”

“Yeah. Yes,” Harry corrected. “He was in a really bad shape, and he needs the nutrition potion every four hours, including at night.”

“Harry, you should have called earlier!”

“I didn’t even think of it, to be honest,” Harry confessed.

“Did Ron know? I’ll give him a piece of my mind if he did and didn’t think to dissuade or help you.”

Harry smiled warmly at Arthur; even after all those years, he wasn’t used to people taking so much interest in his well-being.

“No, he didn’t know. I haven’t seen him since Monday.”

“Very well. I’ll come every day so you can rest, until Snape wakes up.”

“Thanks, but you won’t need to. After tonight, Snape shouldn’t need such frequent doses of nutrition potions, so I’ll be able to have more restful nights.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Is that so?”

“Yes, don’t worry. And I’ll make sure to ask for help if I need it.”

“Do that. Do you want to sleep for an hour or two? It probably would do you a world of good.”

“Not now, but I’ll have a nap when the wand is finished, if you don’t mind.”

“I’ll mind if you don’t have one,” Arthur said sternly.

Harry laughed. He stood up, collected the plates and slid them into the sink.

“Come. I’ll show you the potions Snape needs.”

Upstairs, Harry gave very precise instructions to Arthur, until the man begged off laughingly.

“Just as well you didn’t become a Healer. All the nurses would have hated you.”

Harry laughed self-consciously. “Sorry.”

“It isn’t a problem, Harry. When do you think you’ll have finished?”

“At two, maybe three. Oh, and there is some salad and cold meat for you in the cold box.”

“Very well. Don’t worry, Harry. I’ll take good care of Snape.”

Harry felt himself grow warm. Put like that, it sounded. . . wrong. “Erm, I’ll be in my workshop if there is a problem.”

* * *

At two o’clock, Harry emerged from his workshop, ravenous and completely exhausted. Thankfully, a plate had been laid out with some cold chicken. Harry helped himself to it. After a few minutes, Arthur joined him, sitting down at the kitchen table, but not eating anything.

“Do you want something?” Harry asked politely.

“It’s a quarter past two, Harry. I ate long ago.” Arthur was wearing an amused smile.

“Oh, right.” Harry couldn’t believe he hadn’t realised that.

“You are going to bed as soon as you’ve finished eating.”

“I won’t need much persuading,” Harry said ruefully.

He finished eating under Arthur’s watchful gaze, then he was ushered upstairs with an admonition to ‘sleep as much as he needed’. Harry stripped to his pants and fell on the bed. He was asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow.

* * *

Reluctantly, Harry opened his eyes. He could hear snatches of voices coming from Snape’s bedroom, and he realised that Hearthwick was already there.

Feeling a little groggy, Harry dressed and went to the bathroom to wash the sleep off his face. There were red creases on his cheeks from the pillow, and his hair was sticking out even more than usual. Harry tried to tame it with a little water, but soon gave it up as a lost cause.

In Snape’s bedroom, Harry was welcomed by large smiles.

“Severus woke up!” Arthur said excitedly.

“Indeed,” Hearthwick confirmed. “Not for long, only a few seconds, but now he is sleeping instead of being in a coma.”

“Oh, good.” Harry smiled in relief.

“Let’s move to somewhere we won’t disturb him. I have a few recommendations to make.”

Once they had relocated to the sitting room, Hearthwick continued, “You can stop giving him the nutrition potion, and start giving him real food. Nothing too rich, though, and he might not be up to solid food in the first days, so soups, mashed potatoes. . . That kind of things.”

“Wait a second!” Harry located a quill and sheet of parchment, and wrote down the Healer’s instructions.

Hearthwick waited until he had finished, then said, “For the time being, keep giving him the two potions for the muscular degeneration every eight hours. Once he feels better, we’ll see to change the doses, but not before.”

“Define ‘better’?”

“Once he can stand up on his own, and walk around the house without collapsing in exhaustion.”

“All right.”

“If I know Severus at all,” Arthur intervened, “he’s going to be the worst patient ever. And he’ll probably overexert himself and push himself too hard.”

Hearthwick nodded. “I never had him as a patient, but given what I know of his temperament, I can easily believe that. Don’t give in if he wants to do something foolish.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I’m not stupid, you know. And I can out-stubborn him.”

Arthur chuckled, and Hearthwick smiled.

“Very well,” he said brusquely, standing up. “I’ll leave you with him, then. I’ll come tomorrow to see how he does and give you the next batch of potions.”

“Have you eaten dinner?” Harry asked.

“I had a sandwich earlier; I’m working until tomorrow morning, and I probably won’t have time to eat later. But thanks.”

He shook hands with Harry and Arthur, and Flooed to St Mungo’s.

“I’m going to leave, too,” Arthur said. “Ron isn’t working tonight, so we’re eating together. Call me if you have a problem.”

“Thanks, Arthur. I’ll do that.”

“Do you think you will be able to come on Sunday?”

“Well, if Snape has woken, I might. I’ll let you know as soon as I can.”

* * *

At midnight, Harry went up to give Snape his dose of potions. He was sleeping peacefully, his chest moving up and down in regular, deep breaths. It was almost a shame to wake him up, but Harry had no choice.

He opened the drawer of the bedside table and took out the vials. The tinkling disturbed Snape who opened his eyes. For a moment, he looked at Harry as if he didn’t recognise him, then he said in a low, gravelly voice, “I’m dead, and God has a warped sense of humour.”

Harry couldn’t help it; he burst out laughing. “You’re alive, but I’ll agree that God has a warped sense of humour.”

Snape scowled. Harry ignored it and sat him up, propping pillows behind him.

“What is that in aid of, Potter?” he asked suspiciously.

“Well, you need to drink your potions, and drinking lying down isn’t exactly easy.”

“Potions?”

Harry lifted a vial up and squinted at the label. “Let’s see. . . This one is myofibril relaxant — no idea what that mean. And the other is. . . um, Muscle-gro.” He looked hopefully at Snape, but he should have known that Snape’s enquiries weren’t over yet.

“Who made them?”

“The labs at St Mungo’s.”

Harry refrained from adding that as far as they knew, the potions were for a Tobias Prince, as both Hearthwick and Harry had agreed that it would reduce the risks of sabotage.

“Adequate,” Snape said with the air of pronouncing a judgement.

Once the potions were administered, Snape closed his eyes tiredly. Harry helped him to lie back down.

Taking care of Snape while he was unconscious had been strange enough; doing so under his merciless gaze was going to be a challenge, Harry realised. Snape might have been too weak to oppose much resistance to Harry’s handling or to the subpar potions, but that was going to change as he got better.

Harry sighed. He really didn’t look forward to that.

* * *

“I am perfectly able to look after myself, Potter. If you’ll remember, I’ve been doing it for the last twenty-five years.”

Harry counted to ten. Slowly. A bit calmer, he said, “Yes, you have. But you weren’t bed-ridden, unable to stand up or call for help if needs be. Do I need to remind you that you don’t even have a wand?”

“And whose fault is it?” Snape snarled. With more aggressiveness than the situation warranted, as Harry had no idea what had happened to Snape’s wand.

He said as much to Snape.

“Once Bellatrix had irrefutable proof of my treachery,” Snape said with a pointed look at Harry, who assumed he was speaking of the spell he had stepped in front of, to protect Harry, “she snapped it. After torturing me for a bit, of course. Thankfully, I managed to kill her anyway and escape, no thanks to you.”

Harry winced. It was true that he hadn’t even tried to find Snape after he had killed Voldemort. He had been whisked away by the celebrations, which was no excuse, really.

“I’m sorry. I should have come back and tried to find you.”

Snape looked at him, his eyes narrowed, trying to gauge Harry’s sincerity. Harry didn’t try to avoid his eyes, or the subtle Legilimency spell. After a moment, Snape sat back against his pillows.

“Yes, you should,” he said gruffly.

“Anyway, that has nothing to do with the problem at hand. I refuse to leave you all alone for a day, but I believe we can reach a compromise.”

“Can we?”

Harry might have given more attention to the threat in Snape’s voice if he hadn’t been so completely helpless. As it was, he ignored it.

“I thought I could have a house-elf looking after you.”

“A simpering, self-abusing half-wit, you mean.”

Harry counted to ten again. Maybe he should try to learn a foreign language; that would at least provide him with some variety.

“Actually, Dobby was quite abused by his former master, and I’d thank you not to do the same. You may take your moods out on me as much as you like, but I _won’t_ have you abusing house-elves.”

He looked sternly at Snape who glared back, but Harry refused to back off. To his surprise, Snape averted his eyes after a moment, mumbling something Harry didn’t catch.

“Can I trust you to behave?”

Snape huffed, annoyed. “Yes, Mother.”

Harry ignored that, too — he was beginning to think that the simplest way to deal with Snape’s sarcasm and insults would be to pay no attention to either and move on.

“Well, that’s settled, then. Now, as you have permission to eat whatever you want, any preferences for dinner tonight?”

“Who’s cooking?”

“Same person as today’s lunch, and yesterday’s meals.”

“On a first name basis with the local caterer, are we?”

Harry shrugged; now that he was clear of the Dursleys, he had taken quite a taste for cooking, and especially experimenting with foreign food. Not that Snape would believe him if he said so.

“No fish, then. Beyond that, I don’t care,” Snape finally said when Harry didn’t respond to his quip.

Harry frowned. “Shrimp okay?”

“What are you planning on ordering?” Snape asked suspiciously.

“Bánh xèo.” At Snape’s blank stare, he elaborated, “Vietnamese pancakes, with pork and shrimp, and lots of vegetables.”

Snape thought for a minute, then said, “Very well.”

Just as well. Harry had not looked forward to making two different meals, or eating mashed potatoes for the fourth time in three days.

“Do you want me to eat with you?”

Instead of the instantaneous refusal Harry expected, Snape seemed to hesitate. Obviously making a decision, he said with a sneer, “Can you provide intelligent conversation, Potter?”

Not rising to the bait, Harry answered, “I can provide conversation, yes.”

“But not intelligent, Potter?” Snape pressed on.

“You taught me for six years, didn’t you?”

“Indeed,” Snape answered, managing to convey volumes with the word, just as Harry had expected he would. “Does that mean that you will let me get out of this damn bed and go downstairs?”

“Not even in your dreams, Snape. What part of ‘absolute rest’ didn’t you get? And stop sulking, it’s unbecoming in a man your age.”

“Potter. Get out. And I think my digestion shall be better if I don’t have to look at you.”

The bastard. How did he manage to get under Harry’s skin that easily?

“Fine,” Harry said tightly.

He went out, struggling not to let his sudden anger show. Outside in the corridor, he counted to ten, then to a hundred, before feeling calm enough to be trusted around fragile dishes and sharp knives.

* * *

The next day was a little tense, and Harry was happy to be able to go to the Weasleys and relax, out of Snape’s presence.

He stepped out of the Floo into the Burrow’s kitchen, but it was empty. Harry wandered out. Two tables had been laid side by side on the lawn, and Arthur was standing a little further, surrounded by an alarming smoke cloud.

“Harry! How are you?”

“Very well, Mr— Arthur. What are you doing?”

“I heard of this Muggle thing called beebeecue, and I wanted to try it. It’s quite fun, too.”

Harry repressed a laugh. “A barbecue, Arthur. BBQ is merely an abbreviation. And you’d better vanish all that smoke before the fire-fighters come see what’s happening.”

“You’re probably right.” Arthur took out his wand and waved the smoke away, which allowed Harry to see the charred sausages on the grill.

“There are more in the cold box, but I’ll probably cook them myself,” Ron whispered behind him, low enough that his father couldn’t hear.

Harry turned. “Ron! How are you?”

“Knackered, honestly. Exams are coming up, and the training is even more intensive. The physicals won’t be a problem, but Law is awful.”

“But you love it anyway,” Harry said with a smile. There were dark rings under Ron’s eyes, but he looked happy.

“Well. . . yes. Yes. This is what I’ve always wanted to do.”

Harry started to answer when there was a loud pop. Percy had arrived, Side-Apparating with a pretty girl Harry didn’t know. He waved at them, and Percy pulled the girl by the hand to meet them.

“Harry, Ron! Dad. Meet Ann Thomas.” He blushed a little. “She’s my fiancée.”

“Percy!” Arthur exclaimed, a bright smile on his face. “Welcome to the family, Ann. You don’t mind if I call you Ann, do you?”

“Not at all, Mr Weasley.”

“As you already guessed, this is my father,” Percy said, handling the introductions. “Here’s my little brother Ron, and his best friend Harry Potter.” Ann shook both their hands while Percy continued, “Harry’s a Weasley in all but name. And red hair, obviously.”

Harry chuckled, then frowned in thought. “You’re a Muggle, aren’t you?”

Ann’s eyes widened. “How do you know that?”

“You didn’t look at my scar when Percy told you my name.”

“Your scar?” she asked, puzzled. “Why should I?”

Ron stifled a snicker and Percy said, “Harry is somewhat famous in the Wizarding World.”

Ann was about to ask for precisions, making Harry regret to have opened his big mouth, but thankfully, Arthur came to his rescue.

“If you are a Muggle, would you know how to operate the barbeecue? I’m afraid I quite ruined the sausages.” He skilfully stirred Ann towards the barbecue, all the while chatting happily, leaving the three young men alone.

“Congrats, Perce!” Ron said. “She looks lovely.”

“She is,” Percy said, in the tones of a man who is very far gone.

“How did you meet her?” Harry asked.

“You know I’m on the Wizarding-Muggle Relations committee, right? Well, a few months ago, I was at the Parliament for some meeting, and I met Ann there. Literally, as we bumped into each other round a corner, and I caused her to drop the files she was carrying. In between apologising and helping her, I managed to invite her to dinner. And well, she said yes.”

“And it all went downhill from there.”

Harry, being closest, smacked Ron upside the head.

“What does she do there? At the Parliament, I mean?”

“She’s the personal assistant to the MP for St Ives. I’ve met him once or twice. Nice man, but very messy. She has her work cut out for her.”

Harry nodded. It sounded like an utterly dreary kind of work, but to each his own, he supposed.

“Say, aren’t George and Angelina supposed to come today?”

Percy rolled his eyes. “They probably started experimenting and got caught up in it. You know them.”

As if to give him the lie, George and Angelina emerged from the kitchen where they had Flooed to, Harry supposed. That seemed to be the cue to serve lunch. After some shouts and laughter, everyone sat down at the tables.

For a while everyone was silent as they enjoyed their food. Ann obviously knew how to operate a barbecue, as the sausages were just right.

“So, I hear Severus is staying at your place?” Percy asked Harry.

Harry nodded. “Yes, he was finally found. Badly hurt, too, though he’s on the mend.”

“Do you mind if I come visit him?”

Harry looked at him in surprise at the eagerness in his voice. He knew of course that Snape and Percy had frequently been thrown together by their respective roles in the war, but he had no idea they were actually friends. He had the tact not to make a surprised remark, but Ron was not so careful.

“What on earth would you do that for?”

Percy looked at him coldly. “Severus has been one of my closest friends for a dozen years, Ron. Why wouldn’t I want to see him?”

A dozen years. A quick sum placed it into Harry’s second year, Percy’s sixth.

“No offence, Percy, but I can’t imagine Snape becoming friends with one of his students.”

“Not with one of his students. With a fellow spy. After the Headmaster recruited me, I had to take Occlumency lessons with Severus. We discovered we had a lot in common. And there were things I couldn’t speak of with anyone. But he understood. After all, he had been through the same things.”

Harry hadn’t realised that Percy — and if he understood correctly, Snape — had been recruited so young.

“I had assumed that the Headmaster had asked to spy after you left school. But you were only fifteen!”

“This is one thing I shall never forgive Albus for,” Arthur intervened. “It was bad enough that he kept pushing you into this war, Harry, even if you were under a prophecy. But recruiting teenagers. . . that was employing the same methods as Voldemort.” He shook his head.

“If it were not for the information Severus and I collected, we might not have won the war,” Percy said hotly.

“I know, Percy. And I’m grateful, to both of you. But I still wish you hadn’t had to do it.”

Percy nodded.

“When was Snape recruited, exactly? Do you know?” Harry asked.

“Directly after his OWLs, I think. Why?”

With a flash of clarity, Harry suddenly understood why Snape had chosen to hide _that_ memory all those years ago. After he had learnt what Death Eaters were capable of, Harry had never understood why Snape had singled out that memory to store in his Pensieve. But if it had marked the starting point of his career as a spy. . . That explained so much.

He shrugged in answer to Percy’s inquisitive gaze. “You’re welcome to come visit Snape at any time. I reckon he’ll be glad to have someone other than me to look at.”

Harry was more than ready to let the subject drop, and thankfully Ron came to his rescue.

“Before I forget, I have another prospective customer for you.”

“Another Auror?”

Ron nodded as Ann asked. “What is it you do?”

“I’m a wandmaker. I make custom wands for adult wizards.”

Ann’s eyes widened and Harry mentally reviewed what he had just said. He groaned.

“No, there’s nothing dirty about it.” Ann giggled, embarrassed. “Ollivander has a stock of wands, and people choose their wands among his stock — or rather, the wand chooses the wizard, as he says. _I_ make each wand custom-tailored to the customer. And I only accept adult customers because magic matures during puberty and a wand that fitted perfectly at eleven might not when you’re twenty.”

“And by not stealing the custom of Hogwarts-bound students from Ollivander, he avoids incurring his wrath,” Ron said drolly.

“That, too.”

Ann was fascinated by the concept and asked him questions after questions. Harry could wax poetic about his favourite subject for hours, and soon Snape was forgotten.

* * *

When Harry came home, he received a detailed account of Snape’s doings from Dobby. The news that Snape hadn’t eaten much wasn’t as surprising as the gushing praise Dobby poured about the man’s courtesy towards house-elves.

Dismissed, Dobby disappeared with a pop, leaving Harry to shake his head in disbelief. He had never given a great deal of thought to Snape’s relations with the house-elves, but he’d never have guessed that the man was “courteous, and kind, and thoughtful”. Decidedly, he was turning out to be full of surprises, today.

He went upstairs, knocking on Snape’s door before entering. Snape was awake, sitting upright, propelled by half a dozen pillows. A book was open on his lap; Harry recognised this own Quidditch through the Ages.

“I didn’t know you were interested in Quidditch, sir.”

Snape scowled. “I’m not, but it was the only reading material available, apparently.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. It was true he hadn’t got too many books, but there were some not about Quidditch, that might have interested Snape more.

“Do you have an owl, Potter?” Snape continued.

Harry nodded. “Yes, Hedwig. You’re welcome to borrow her if you need, provided you don’t run her ragged.”

“I would appreciate some parchment and writing supplies, too.”

“I’ll give you some later. Dobby tells me you didn’t eat all your food?”

Snape rolled his eyes. “The elf is too accustomed to serve portions for ravenous teenagers. I ate a normal amount.”

Harry smiled. He had had enough confrontations with Dobby on that same subject to know that Snape was telling the truth.

“Good. Now that’s settled, is there anything I can do for you?”

“I want to go to the toilet.”

“Of course.” Harry took out his wand.

“You don’t understand me, Potter. I don’t want you to empty my bladder with that obnoxious spell; I want to _go_ to the toilet.”

All of a sudden, Harry felt like hitting his head against the wall. Several times. He began to explain, as he already had a half-dozen times, exactly what was wrong with this idea, but halfway through his sentence, he stopped.

“You know what? I’m tired of explaining all this to you. I’m going to help you to the loo, and when you collapse in the middle of the corridor, I’ll get the immense satisfaction of saying ‘I told you so’.”

Snape glared darkly at him, but to Harry’s regret, he didn’t come back on his decision.

Carefully, Harry helped him stand, then wrapped Snape’s arm around his shoulders. Supporting him, Harry began to move towards the door. They walked in very small steps. Harry was sure he could hear Snape’s teeth grinding, and by the time they were in front of the loo, Snape was out of breath and sweating.

Harry let Snape enter the loo alone, but he promised dire retribution if Snape so much as thought about locking the door. He felt uncomfortable standing behind the door listening to the sounds Snape made, but it couldn’t be helped. Snape took his time, until Harry had to knock at the door to ask whether he needed help.

Snape finally emerged. He was as white as the nightshirt he was wearing, and was gripping the doorpost so tightly that Harry wondered if he’d have to extract splinters.

“Potter.” Snape paused; Harry waited. “Would you help me back to the bed? I won’t make it.” he finally said, reluctantly. “Please.”

That must have hurt. Harry nodded. He levitated Snape back into his bed, careful to avoid bumping him into walls. Harry started to tuck Snape in, until he snapped, “I’m not a complete invalid!”

Harry stepped back and said calmly, “Healer Hearthwick’ll arrive soon. What do you say about Lamb Keema, once he’s done with you?”

“Your Chinese deli has been taken over by Indians?”

Harry chuckled. “Vietnamese deli. And yes, in a way.” Actually, Harry had come across Classic Indian Cooking at the secondhand bookshop down the road, and he hadn’t been able to resist buying it.

“Lamb Keena is all right.”

“With me or on your own?”

The answer was long in coming. “. . . With you.”

Harry couldn’t help the sarcasm in his voice. “Really?”

“I’m bored out of my skull,” Snape gritted trough his teeth.

Harry carefully wiped the smile out of his face. A faint wooshing sound was heard downstairs.

“I think that’s Hearthwick. I’ll send him up to you, all right?”

Snape nodded. Harry went out in the corridor. Hearthwick was already halfway up the stairs. Upon seeing Harry, he gestured apologetically at himself.

“I hope you don’t mind.”

“Mind?” Harry had no idea what Hearthwick meant.

“That I came up directly.”

“Oh, not at all. Make yourself at home. You know the way, after all, and I might not be home anyway, so no point in waiting downstairs.”

Hearthwick smiled. “Thanks. How is Mr Snape, tonight?”

“Grumpy, as usual. Ask him what he just did.”

Hearthwick rolled his eyes. “Something stupid, I suppose. A more difficult patient I never had.”

Harry chuckled. “Nothing surprising about that. Do you want to eat with us tonight? I’m making Lamb Keena.”

“Oh no!” Hearthwick sounded entirely too eager for someone about to spend his whole night on duty. His next comment cleared up Harry’s confusion. “I’ve got a date!”

“Congratulations. I hope it works out.”

Hearthwick smiled back to Harry. “Thanks. Well, I’ll go see to Mr Snape, and then I’ll be off.”

Harry nodded and left to the kitchen to start on dinner.

* * *

On Tuesday morning, Harry left early for his office. He had appointments with a potential customer, and his wood supplier. He hired Dobby’s services again, with only minimal grumbling on Snape’s part.

Harry spent a long time applying the glamour spells to himself, until he looked nothing like Harry Potter: nondescript brown hair and eyes, no scar. He wanted to establish his reputation as a wandmaker on his own terms, and not owe anything to the Chosen One crap.

Once he was ready, he Apparated to the small, cramped office above Quality Quidditch Supplies, in Diagon Alley, and set out to dismantle the wards. He was just finishing when someone knocked at the door.

“Just a minute,” Harry shouted.

He brought down the last of the stranger-repelling wards and took a few seconds to straighten his clothes.

Harry opened the door to let his customer enter. To his displeasure, he saw that the man had a child with him, a child that looked just old enough to be entering Hogwarts on the next 1st September.

“Mr Jamison,” the man greeted, extending a hand. “I’m Dafydd Jones, and this is my son Euan.”

“Mr Jones. Mr Jones.” The last got a giggle out of Euan. Harry shook hands with them and invited them to sit.

“I’ve heard a lot of good things about your wands, and I was interested in one for myself.” Jones went straight to the point, to Harry’s relief, as he hated small talk.

“For yourself?” Harry asked, without bothering to hide the scepticism in his voice.

“I heard that you didn’t make wands for children.”

“I don’t.”

“Who did you apprentice with?”

“No one. I self-trained, with the occasional help from Ollivander. But our conceptions of wandmaking are radically different.”

“Remarkable. I have seen Shacklebolt use his, so I know they’re good.”

Harry nodded gracefully.

“What do you need to make a wand?” Jones continued.

Harry took a few items out of a drawer: an owl feather,a matchbox and a scrap of parchment. He then settled comfortably in his chair.

“I need you to demonstrate a few spells for me. A levitating spell, any transfiguration, a fire-starting spell, a summoning spell. Also one you’re particularly good at, and one you’re particularly bad at.”

Jones obeyed with a snort while Harry observed the currents of magic around him. Once he had a good idea of the way Jones used magic, he sat back in his chair.

“I can make a wand for you. I’ll owl you when it’s done.”

“How much is it?”

“Twenty-five Galleons.”

Jones sucked in a breath. “That’s awfully expensive.”

“Yes.” Harry’s eyes met Jones’s without flinching. His wands were worth as much and more.

Jones seemed to hesitate for a few seconds. “Very well.”

He made a move to take out a money pouch or something, but Harry stopped him. “You’ll pay me on reception.”

“Very well. Is there anything more you need?”

Harry smiled courteously. “No, thanks. I’m all set.”

He stood up, followed by his two visitors.

“When can I expect the wand to be finished?”

“If I have all the materials I need at hand, then two weeks, three at most. If I have to special-order something, it’ll probably take longer. But I’ll let you know.”

“Very well. Thank you, Mr Jamison. Come, Euan.”

Harry escorted them to the door, holding it open.

He was just sitting back down after the Joneses’ departure when there was a knock at the door. He glanced at the Muggle-style clock in the corner; his supplier was early, if it was him.

It was.

“Mr Jamison! How are you?”

Harry smiled. “Very well, thank you. I heard about your son. Congratulations, Mr Greenstone.”

“Thanks! A lovely boy, and already eating me out of the house.”

“I hear they do that, during the first years.”

With a wave of his wand, Greenstone sent the trunk floating behind him to the middle of the carpet, in front of Harry’s desk.

“And not only the first years, let me tell you! But enough of that.” Greenstone opened the trunk and began to carefully unload the wrapped packages on Harry’s desk. When he had a dozen out, he stopped and took one. He untied the binds of leather to take off the velvet wrapping. Once he was done, he handed the branch to Harry, who examined it carefully.

“Mahogany?”

Greenstone nodded.

“Hmm. No knot. Seems to offer a suitable conduct to magic. A bit short, though. Maybe.”

Greenstone nodded again and set it aside before handing another branch to Harry.

They had gone through half the trunk, separating the branches in Yeses, Noes and Maybes, when Greenstone passed an oak branch to Harry. He felt a strong jolt of recognition; the wood would be ideal for someone whose magic he was familiar with. Running his fingers up and down the branch, he concentrated on the feeling, trying to recognise the person.

Snape. It was Snape, Harry knew with sudden certainty. It was strange; Harry would never have pegged Snape as an oak man, though it made a lot of sense in retrospect. He placed the branch on the Yes pile, and said, “Next.”

He rushed through the rest of the branches, not even going through the Maybes again, as was his wont. Once Greenstone was paid and gone, Harry took out the branch of oak again. Mr Jones would have to wait a little; Snape’s wand had priority.

* * *

Harry dropped the dozen branches in his workshop and went to see Snape. Given that they had left each other congenially that morning, Harry wasn’t expecting the dark glare and the cold, vaguely threatening “You!” when he entered Snape’s room.

His step faltered. “Me?” he said weakly.

“Care to explain?” Snape thrust a newspaper into Harry’s face.

Harry took it and read.

> Severus Snape: Death Eater or Unsung Hero? Harry Potter Tells All

Startled, Harry looked at the date. It was several months old, dating from Snape’s trial.

“Where did you get this?”

“I wanted information on my own trial. Imagine my surprise when I discovered this.”

Harry blinked in surprise. “What’s the problem? It’s only the truth.”

“Only the truth, he says! Potter, I really don’t need, nor want to figure in the Daily Prophet.”

Harry shrugged. “You managed to do that all by yourself. At least it’s better than some of the articles they ran on you, not that this one did anything for your reputation anyway. People don’t want to forget that you killed Dumbledore.”

“At _his_ behest.”

“I know!” Harry shouted. “You don’t need to remind _me_. I know,” he repeated more calmly. “But the general public only knew Dumbledore from afar, and they feared and adored him in equal measures. They have difficulties to embrace that thought. They don’t understand about the sacrifices you need to do in a war.”

“And you do?”

“If I didn’t, Hermione wouldn’t be one of the permanent residents of St Mungo’s Ward 49.”

Harry didn’t stay to see what Snape made of this. He turned and nearly ran out of the room, blinking back tears.

* * *

Harry knew that what he was doing was dangerous, but he didn’t care. He zoomed at top speed on his Firebolt, plunging downward the ground and pulling up at the last second; slaloming around the rows of trees down the road; coming perilously close to the wards, risking to be seen by Muggles.

Reckless flying had always been his favourite way to deal with stress.

Harry was high above the house, when he saw someone come out of the back door. He scowled; did Snape want to kill himself, overexerting like that? He dived, enjoying the speed and the wind in his face, before landing smoothly not two feet from Snape.

Snape was pale, sweat beading on his upper lip, his knuckles white from gripping the umbrella he was using as a cane.

“Are you insane?” he shouted. “I didn’t save your miserable hide so many times only to have you kill yourself in a freak broom accident!”

Harry was about to retort hotly when Snape seemed to fold on himself, his legs giving away. He hurried to Snape, helping him to sit on the ground.

“Right back atcha, too,” he sighed. “What are you doing out of your bed?”

Snape tried to extend his legs in front of him, but he was having difficulties.

“I think my muscles contracted,” he said between gritted teeth.

“And it would have nothing to do with the fact that you walked down a flight of stairs and across the whole house, hmm?”

Snape didn’t answer, staring stonily ahead. Sighing again, Harry levitated him carefully inside.

Once in Snape’s bedroom, Harry set Snape on the armchair. He changed the sheets and spread a bath towel on the bed to protect them.

“What are you doing?” Snape asked suspiciously, pain colouring his voice.

“I can’t leave you like that; Hearthwick would kill me,” Harry said, with a look at Snape’s still folded legs.

He transferred Snape from the armchair to the bed, setting him on his side. Opening the drawer to the bedside table, he found the potion Hearthwick had left with him the day before, in anticipation of “Snape’s utter pigheadedness”.

Harry looked at Snape, trying to gauge what the most comfortable position would be. Hopping on one foot, then the other, he took off his shoes and socks, then sat down, tailor-style, on the bed.

“I hope that you washed those feet before putting them on my clean sheets.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “They’re on the towel, stupid.” Without leaving him time to protest, he pushed Snape’s nightshirt up his thighs, prompting a “Hey!” from Snape. “Don’t be maidenly, Snape. Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

“What?”

Harry was impressed; Snape must have scaled over two octaves on a single word. He shrugged innocently.

“You were unconscious for two days, you know.”

Snape glared at him, but apparently decided to let that matter rest. “What are you trying to do, exactly?”

“I’m going to massage your legs with that.”

Harry held up the jar. Snape plucked it from his hand. He examined the label, then unscrewed the top, smelling suspiciously at the cream inside, and rubbing it between two fingers. He thrust it back into Harry’s hands.

“Get on with it.”

Harry wedged the jar by his hip and dipped his hand in the cream. He allowed it to warm up for a few seconds before spreading it on Snape’s leg. Snape hissed.

“Does it hurt?”

“No, but it tingles. A lot.”

Even though Snape couldn’t see him, Harry nodded in understanding. Slowly, he began to rub the cream in the skin, working on the tense muscles until he could feel them relax.

Harry spent a long time on Snape’s legs, until Snape was finally able to unfold them. Harry was cleaning his hands on the towel, when he heard a knock at the main door downstairs.

Startled, he asked, “What time is it?”

“You’re the one with a wand, Potter,” Snape grumbled.

Wiping the last traces of cream from his hands, Harry said a Tempus spell.

“Half past five already! I can’t believe I’ve been massaging you for three hours.”

“I’ve no idea. I fell asleep in the middle of it.”

Harry chuckled. “I noticed. All right, I’ll see who’s at the door.”

“Potter, wait.”

“Yes?”

“I. . .” Snape seemed uncharacteristically hesitant. “I’m sorry, for Miss Granger. I didn’t know. And thanks for the massage.”

Harry swallowed. “Apology accepted.”

There was a second knock, and Harry ran down the stairs. He opened the door just as his visitor was about to knock for the third time.

“Percy! Was that today?”

Percy laughed. “Don’t tell me, you forgot.”

Harry nodded sheepishly. “You won’t starve or anything, mind. But don’t expect anything more elaborate than sandwiches, sorry. Oh, please come in.”

He stepped aside to let Percy enter.

“How’s Severus?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Oh, you know him. I just finished massaging his legs, because he just can’t stay in his bed as he’s supposed to. Do try to make some subtle remarks about that to him, if you can.”

He led Percy upstairs and knocked on Snape’s door. Opening it a little, he poked his head inside.

“Are you decent? Yes? I have a visitor for you.”

Opening the door wide, he let Percy enter, and witnessed the most amazing transformation in Snape, whose face lit up.

“Percy!” he exclaimed, positively grinning. “How are you?”

Percy entered and hugged Snape, who not only let him, but hugged him in return.

Harry, trying to clamp down on feelings best left unanalysed, said, “I’ll be by in an hour or so with some food. If you need me, I’ll be in my workshop.”

Percy was perched down on the edge of Snape’s bed, already chatting animatedly; Harry wasn’t even sure he had heard him. Unaccountably depressed, Harry went to work on Snape’s wand.

* * *

Harry went to bed that night expecting to dream of Snape. It was not unusual; making someone a wand meant spending time attuned to their magic. Harry couldn’t count how many times he had dreamt about watching his customers performing spells.

He had not, however, expected those dreams about Snape. They usually began with Snape naked, which was strange enough. In the first one, which Harry remembered with startling clarity, Snape had cast a spell on himself to become more limber. Then he had bent impossibly forward until he could take the head of his erect cock into his own mouth. The sight had astonished and aroused Harry, who hadn’t even known it was possible. He had watched as Snape sucked himself and played with his balls and arse, until he came, hard.

Harry had woken up panting hard and his sheets soiled. He didn’t understand. Harry could truthfully say that he had never before thought about Snape in a sexual manner. The man had been his teacher, and teachers, like parents, just didn’t get up to that sort of things.

Harry’s personal experience was limited to a few touches with Ginny before her death, and some marginally more satisfying — if drunken — fumblings with Ron on the night of Voldemort’s defeat. And now this intensely erotic dream. What was the hell was wrong with him that he dreamt about Snape using erotic magic?

To his growing consternation, the dreams did not fade or become more normal as the days went on. Every night brought on wilder dreams, and Harry soon became a willing participant in them. It made it harder to meet Snape’s eyes in the morning, especially as Harry had never managed to become proficient at Occlumency.

The dichotomy between the passionate, yet tender, lover of his dreams, and the real Snape was also wearing Harry down. It was becoming more and more difficult to meet Snape’s insults with equanimity.

Harry looked forward to finishing Snape’s wand, which would stop the dreams. He refused to think about the possibility that they might not stop.

On the morning when he had planned to add the core to Snape’s wand, Harry helped Snape to go downstairs to the sitting room. Snape had finally been authorised to leave his bed, on the condition that he use a cane to move, and that he heed his body’s warnings.

“There’s a bookcase here, and not all books are about Quidditch. The kitchen is just down the corridor, and there’s food in the ice box as I’m unlikely to have finished by noon. In case of problems, the Floo’s hooked up to the network, and there’s Floo powder on the mantel.”

“Yes, Potter,” Snape said with exaggerated patience. “I heard you the first time.”

“Uh, yeah. Sorry.” To his mortification, Harry could feel himself blush. “I’ll just go and leave you alone, then.”

He left the room, all the while feeling Snape’s gaze on him.

* * *

Incorporating the core to the wand was a long process involving a particularly difficult potion. Harry would never be a genius at potions, but he was able to trudge through even complicated instructions without causing too many explosions. Anyway, anyone could become an expert in one thing, and that particular potion he had been drilled until he could have brewed it in his sleep.

The potion looked perfect as usual when Harry poured it in a shallow stone basin. He delicately set the wand in the potion to soak, then went through his stores to find the perfect core.

Now came the difficult part: what kind of core would suit Snape? Probably some exotic potion ingredient, something to mark his uniqueness, and his occupation. Harry didn’t have much of those, except the ingredients he needed for the core potion itself.

His hand hesitated over the jars, until he happened on one containing Occamy egg shells. Yes, those would be perfect, especially given Snape’s and an Occamy’s similarity in behaviour, Harry snickered privately. He took an almost intact shell and dropped it in the potion.

The wand had already dissolved, good. Harry waited until the shell had melted too, then he closed his eyes and started chanting the ageless ritual words while thinking of Severus Snape.

An eternity later — though it was probably closer to an hour or two — Harry opened his eyes. The potion had evaporated, leaving the wand at the bottom of the basin.

Harry picked it up. He could feel the low thrum of magic running through it. Pleased, Harry set it aside; it only needed to be oiled and polished, now.

Harry’s stomach grumbled and he glanced at the clock. Nearly two in the afternoon, no wonder he was famished. He padded to the kitchen, only realising that Percy was there when he saw him.

Intellectually, Harry knew the jealousy he felt was stupid. Percy and Snape were friends, not lovers, and anyway Percy was about to get married. But Harry couldn’t help his feelings. All his good humour vanishing, Harry nodded curtly at Percy, on some level aware that he was behaving like a petulant five-year-old.

Quickly, he piled some bread, ham and cheese, frowning when he saw that the pickle jar was almost empty. He ate standing at the counter, considering his options.

He had planned to spend the afternoon with Snape, but with Percy here, it was out of the question. They had a way to make him feel transparent, the two of them, and Harry wanted Snape’s complete and undivided attention.

Harry decided to finish Snape’s wand now rather than wait a day or two as he had originally wanted to. It would kill two birds with one stone: it would keep Harry away from Percy and Snape, and a new wand would probably help mellow Snape.

Harry brushed the crumbs and washed the dishes, before heading back to his workshop. In the sitting room, he paused a moment to ask Percy whether he would join them for dinner.

“No, I’m eating at the Burrow. You can join us, if you want. Ann and Ron’ll be there, too.”

“Your father won’t mind?” Snape asked.

“No, he’s always happy when there are lots of people about. Well?”

Harry shrugged. “Your call, Severus,” he said to Snape. Too late, he realised that he had called him by his given name. Snape looked at him sharply, visibly startled, but he didn’t say anything out loud.

“Then we accept your invitation,” Snape said. Harry felt a little thrill, hearing Snape using ‘we’ to mean Harry and himself, then immediately chastised himself for romantic notions more suited to a thirteen-year-old girl.

Harry nodded to show his agreement.

“Well, if that’s all, I still have work to do. Come fetch me about a half hour before leaving, please.”

Percy nodded and Harry left.

* * *

The wand was lying on the counter-top, its wood gleaming dully in the little light filtering through the nearly closed blinds. Harry summoned a new jar of linseed oil with a spell and set it besides.

Dragging a high stool to the counter-top, he sat comfortably. He dipped a clean rag in the oil and started polishing it into the smooth wood.

It was another mind-numbing task, and so Harry let his mind wander to last night’s dreams. Severus had kissed and licked every inch of his skin, until Harry was a throbbing mass of need, his cock hard, his balls tight, the sensations coursing through him bordering on painful.

At last, Severus had taken his cock in his mouth, sucking Harry to orgasm. Harry was barely coming back to earth when Snape took him, filling him to the hilt until Harry couldn’t say where he ended and where Snape began.

Harry had awakened to find himself sticky and heaving. Even now, the memory was enough to make him hard.

Harry sent a guilty look at the door, then locked it with a spell. Quickly taking off his trousers to avoid staining them, he dipped his hand into the linseed oil. The touch of his hand on his cock brought him some relief. He began pumping slowly, while he thought back to another delightful dream, one that had repeated quite often during the last days.

Snape had bent him over the sofa’s back and divested him of his clothes with a spell. He had then entered him with one powerful thrust. After that, Snape had proceeded to torture him for _hours_ with slow, deep strokes, until Harry begged him to do something, anything.

Only then had Snape taken his cock in his hand, pulling on it, playing with the balls, raking his nails slightly on it.

Harry’s breath grew faster at the memory while his hand squeezed his cock more strongly, in imitation of the Snape in his fantasy, until Harry came, his vision greying out at the edges, his cock spurting out thick trails of come over his hands and belly. Harry slumped against the counter-top, only just catching himself before falling off the stool.

Quickly, he spelled all the traces of come away, and dispelled the smell of sex that would leave no doubt about his activities.

After taking the time to calm down, he resumed his task, this time trying to concentrate on it, and only on it.

* * *

Contrary to his expectations, the evening had been a success, Harry thought. Even Ron had managed to make Snape welcome, and the conversation had been both animated and relaxed.

Harry wondered why he wasn’t able to manage the same thing when Snape and him were on their own. Though his own embarrassment and Snape’s sharp tongue were probably more than half responsible for that state of things.

In the morning, Harry took the wand with him and went to the sitting room where Snape was reading. He was wondering how to break the subject when Snape snorted.

“The Daily Prophet’s on top of the news, as usual. According to Percy, the Wizard—”

Anger and jealousy surged through Harry. Setting Snape’s wand aside, he marched to Snape’s armchair. “Percy this, Percy that! There are _other_ people who care for you, you know!”

Snape looked up in surprise.

“I’d be interested to m— Potter, what are you—”

Harry plopped down on Snape’s lap. Flinging the newspaper aside, he took Snape’s face between his hands and kissed him soundly, taking advantage of Snape’s open mouth to stick his tongue inside. He licked across the roof of Snape’s mouth, along his teeth; he tried to suck Snape’s tongue into his own mouth, but Snape was having none of it.

Harry became aware of two hands on his shoulders trying to push him away. With a quick wave of his wand, Harry sent Snape’s hands over his head and bound them together. His own hands slid to Snape’s collar, unbuttoning it and pushing the flaps open. His mouth soon followed, licking and nibbling along Snape’s neck. Snape’s protestation soon turned into a long, drawn-out moan of pleasure.

Harry looked up at Snape’s face. His eyes were hooded and unreadable to Harry, but he gave a little roll of hips, pressing momentarily against Harry’s arousal, letting him know in no uncertain terms what he wanted. Harry smiled and bent back down to his task.

Snape’s robes were a lot less complicated than those he had worn as a teacher, and Harry made short work of them. Soon he could push them open, baring Snape’s body to his hungry gaze. There was no denying that the man was ugly. Scarred, colourless, thin — though he was starting to put on some weight — he probably didn’t feature in many people’s dreams. But it suited Harry and his jealous streak just fine.

He slid back a little, just enough to get rid of his own clothes, then settled even closer to Severus, until they sat skin against skin, the sweat starting to sheen on their bodies, slicking them. Harry was kissing Snape enthusiastically, and Snape had brought down his still bound hands around Harry, pressing their groins together, kneading the flesh of Harry’s arse.

“Potter. . .” Snape said between two heavy breaths. “Suck me. . . I want to feel your mouth on my cock. . .”

Harry could have happily remained kissing Snape for hours, but he couldn’t ignore Snape’s almost desperate plea. He slid off Snape’s lap until he was on his knees, and pushed Snape’s knees apart. He swallowed nervously. Flaccid, Snape had been normal-sized, nothing to write home about. But now. . . he was hard, and big.

The head of the cock was still half-covered by the foreskin, but Harry could see precome glistening at the tip. Shuffling closer, he tasted it, just barely brushing Snape’s cock with his tongue, and drawing a loud moan from Snape. With a smile that was half-amused, half-awed that it was him getting those sounds out of Snape, Harry took the cock in his hand, steadying it, and licked it from root to top.

Snape bucked away from the seat, his hands settling in Harry’s hair. Harry pushed firmly on his hips, to keep him from moving, then took his cock in his mouth. He was woefully inexperienced, and wasn’t able to get much of it inside, but he tried everything he could think of to bring pleasure to Snape.

Completely by accident, he discovered that a light nip of the teeth on the small fold of skin joining cock-head and foreskin had Snape howling, and not in pain as Harry first thought. He did it again, soothing the light pain with lavish strokes of the tongue.

The change in intensity in the cries coming from above alerted him that Snape was coming, and Harry drew back just in time to receive the first shot at the top of one cheek. The others landed somewhere on his shoulders and chest, decorating him with pearlescent droplets.

Before Snape could catch his breath, Harry climbed on his lap again, and took both their cocks in one hand. Harry rolled his hips, sending his cock sliding against Snape’s. Snape brought their mouth together in a crashing of lips and teeth, and swallowed Harry’s long moan of ecstasy.

Harry slumped against Snape, only barely managing to find enough strength to shift in his lap until both his legs were on the side and he could settle comfortably against Snape’s chest, his head on Snape’s shoulder.

After a few utterly serene minutes, Snape brought his bound hands up, and said, “Do you plan to do something with those, Potter?”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Sorry.”

He rose up and retrieved both his wand and Snape’s new one. He freed Snape, then hesitated, twirling the other wand between his fingers.

“What’s that?” Snape asked.

“It’s yours,” Harry answered, handing him the wand brusquely.

Snape frowned. “No, it’s not. Or. . . Did you make it for me?” He took it. “P— I was told you were a wandmaker, now.”

Feeling utterly awkward, Harry said, “Yes. You needed one.”

“Do you know me so well that you were able to make a wand for me without requiring what you require of all your customers?”

Harry blushed. “I only need to observe a few simple spells. I’ve seen you use your old wand hundreds of times. It wasn’t difficult.”

“Thank you.” There was no trace of mockery in Snape’s voice; he was utterly sincere.

Harry shrugged to hide his embarrassment. “It’s nothing.” He looked around him. “Maybe I should. . .”

Still naked, he padded into the kitchen for a clean, wet rag. He also took one of Snape’s potion from the still closed St Mungo parcel, and brought both things back to the sitting room. Wordlessly, he handed the potion to Snape and proceeded to rid them both of the spilt semen.

“A spell would be quicker, especially with this wand,” Snape remarked, discarding the empty vial on the floor.

“But it’s more impersonal.” Harry had a sudden thought. “Or maybe that’s what you want.”

“You’re speaking in riddles, Potter.”

“To keep it impersonal,” Harry clarified. “Just. . . just a fuck. Nothing more.”

Snape glared at Harry. “Don’t be stupid.”

Still unsure, Harry could not help pushing. “Why? You’ve always hated me.”

“Only idiots never change their minds, Potter. You’ve grown up into an intelligent, interesting, generous young man; you’ve learnt that there are actually shades of grey between black and white; you’re a tremendous fuck; and you actually want me. Why shouldn’t we try to have some sort of relationship?”

“Some sort of relationship?”

“Don’t expect kittens and roses. But I _am_ able to live with someone if I so choose. And I suspect make-up sex will be spectacular.”

Harry burst out laughing. “‘Tremendous fuck’, am I?”

Snape smirked. “You could get better with practice.” He gave his hand to Harry, who helped him stand. “But I’ll need a bed, mind.”


End file.
